a lot of times, when someone asks you "hey, how are you doing?", we have a pre-programed answer ready and waiting.
"oh, i'm fine. yourself?"
"aww, same old...same old, y'know? yourself?"
"i've had a bad day. [insert long anecdotes about a work]. how about you?"
but you know those stretches where when someone asks you how you're doing, you actually want to explode? yes, that's pretty much where i am right now. i am the picture of instability and anxiousness, and it is completely not where i am comfortable being.
I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.
H.P. Lovecraft, January 1929
i have a billion things to say. in fact i wrote down like, a 15 page blog post. but it really isn't all that coherent at this point.
to paraphrase my midnight manifesto, i basically want to look myself in the mirror and say "screw you".
then i realize that maybe i should be like, learning stuff and growing and crap. then i reconsider cussing myself out. then i'm all confused and thinking myself in circles towards the inevitable brain aneurysm (or more popular 'mug-in-the-head').
and so, in the end, knowing that i will never cease to wrestle with the wrestlyness of existence, i conclude that i am tired and will simply do some light reading and go to sleep.
i keep telling myself i'm going to wake up early and go to the gym someday.
i really hope today's that day.
*i have censored myself.
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